


As Within

by kasiapeia



Series: With Blood and Bone [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, El's father was executed in her name and everything she loved was taken away from her, Elizabeth's alcoholism is rubbing off and that's very bad, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, High Chaos Emily Kaldwin, I don't think there is a single main character in this that isn't mentally scarred by now, I mean she watched the man she loved die, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and Daud's well Daud so I mean that's self-explanatory, and then had to become an assassin, nothing good ever seems to happen to Dunwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasiapeia/pseuds/kasiapeia
Summary: A famine had struck Gristol, and the nobles' solution to dealing with the problem is to host a gala for Empress Emily's 27th birthday because of course it fucking is. Daud thinks this is a horrible idea, and there is no way that this can go well.Surprise, surprise, he's right. After all, the world is ending, and no amount of alcohol can fix that. Alcohol can, however, fix this need for Daud to beat everyone senseless for not listening to him sooner.Set eleven months after the events of As Above, and three months before the events of So Below.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estora/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I have no regrets."_
> 
> _Daud eyed her for a long moment before snorting, pouring himself another drink. "We all have regrets."_
> 
> _"Is yours my mother?”"_

Dunwall felt…unfamiliar.

Once, Daud could have walked these streets with his eyes closed, but now the roads were nothing short of confusing to navigate, and the buildings looked…off. It was as though the entire city has changed, becoming something entirely unknown, and, well, unfamiliar.

Somewhere, deep down inside, he knew that it was him that had changed, not Dunwall.

The last time he was here, he was on his way to kill the Empress. It felt like only yesterday that his sword had tasted Jessamine’s blood, only yesterday that he had unknowingly thrown Dunwall into chaos, and had spent months trying to fix it. Not that his attempts had mattered, in the long run. Delilah had escaped, and had wreaked havoc on the city, and now Dunwall was suffering another tragedy.

The Outsider had been dead for eleven months, and already the Isles were starting to fall apart. The whales had disappeared, and a famine had swept over Gristol. Crops refused to grow in what had once been fertile soil, and that which did grow seemed to go off at a much faster rate. He had tried to speak with Empress Emily when the famine had been nothing but rumours, but when he tried to voice his concerns, the Royal Protector had told him that the Empress’ schedule was too full to allow her to have a meeting with him. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was not Emily who did not want to see Daud.

Daud couldn’t help but snort as he thought about Corvo Attano, still as grim, and as grave as he had been seventeen years ago. He still tried so hard to protect his daughter, despite having celebrated his fifty sixth birthday just last month. Although, to be fair, Daud was months away from his sixtieth, and was as fit as ever. They were getting far too old for this, he thought to himself. Even Elizabeth, the youngest of the three of them, was fifty. Where had the time gone? Or perhaps, without the Void’s magic, the years were finally starting to catch up with him.

Corvo had…not taken kindly to his return. He had only spared Daud because Elizabeth had appeared as the Lord Protector had held a knife to the Knife of Dunwall’s throat, with a warning that she would have to kill Corvo if he did anything. He had hesitated then, and Elizabeth had used that as an opportunity to remind him that killing Daud would have made him the kind of person Jessamine used to speak up against. It was only after promising never to return to Dunwall that Corvo had let them go. Suffice to say, Emily explaining to him that Daud and Elizabeth had saved her life while in Tyvia went over…poorly. It had taken nearly six guards just restrain the Royal Protector, and had he still possessed the Outsider’s Mark, Daud knew that Corvo would have had his head on a spike.

But that had been months ago.

He had not warmed up to Daud in any way, shape, or form since then, but he had permitted—as though Emily had to ask for his permission—Daud and Elizabeth to both stay in Dunwall Tower, with Zenaida taking up residence down on Clavering.

Daud rarely saw much of Elizabeth lately. She had been appointed Captain of the Guard, her experience with the sword helping her surpass any of the other candidates for the position. Even the silver mines that had been taken from her from the Lord Regent had been given back to her by command of the Empress. The Bushford manor was not in any good shape, having fallen into disrepair after seventeen years, but the Watch had cleared it of squatters, and was not trying to renovate it into a new base of operations. In short, she was finally getting everything she had worked so hard to get back. It was a shame everything was falling into place just as the world was ending, he couldn't help but observe.

With Elizabeth being so preoccupied, Daud was left to wander the streets alone, occasionally visiting Zenaida and Billie in their apartment, even if he left with a headache every time. They were far too young for him to keep up with them anymore. Today, however… Today was different. Today was the second of the Month of Rains, and Emily Kaldwin had turned twenty seven. They were to be hosting a gala at the Tower tonight, despite the famine, and Elizabeth was going out of her mind with stress. Riots had been breaking out in the streets ever since they had implemented a strict rationing program two months ago in an attempt to combat the famine, and even Corvo was starting to become worried that perhaps a party was not the best idea. Security was at an all-time high, but even then, this was risky business. After all, a feast during the time of famine was nothing short of...tactless.

But the preparations had been made, and there was no changing anything now.

He leaned against the wall as he watched florists arrange—and rearrange, and rearrange, and rearrange—the bouquets lining the aisle of the throne room. Soldiers paced back and forth, helping where they could, and Elizabeth and Corvo were furiously arguing over how to properly rotate guards throughout the night. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Daud knew that he was supposed to be helping, somehow, but the room was packed full of servants, and he wasn't entirely certain where his skills would be of the most use.

And in the chaos, no one noticed the Empress slip out the room.

He followed her—it wasn't like he had anything better to do—his hands shoved in the pockets of his far-too-stiff jacket. The uniform he had been forced into was far too formal to his liking. He wasn’t certain why he’d had to get it specially made, either. It would be worn once before being shoved to the back of the closet, and left to be eaten by moths.

“Where are you going?”

Emily stopped halfway up the stairs as she heard his voice. It might have been his imagination, but she looked…older. There were lines marring her features, and the bags under her eyes had become so large that they were purple and swollen. The Outsider’s death had plagued her, and there were few in Dunwall Tower who did not know of the restless, violent dreams that the Empress suffered through at night as a result of her grief. She had watched him die, unable to do anything as Galia— _his former apprentice_ , she reminded him every time her name came up—slit the god’s throat. He had never been fond of the black-eyed bastard, but he couldn't say that he...particularly enjoyed his life now that he was dead.

“I’m getting dressed,” Emily said tightly. “What’s it to you?”

“You have seven hours until the party.” Daud crossed his arms, hiding his red vest below his grey overcoat. “You’re not getting dressed. You’re sneaking off, and not planning to attend at all.”

“My actions, Daud, are not for you to be questioning.”

“No, they’re not,” he agreed, “but perhaps you could do your father and Elizabeth the courtesy of calling it off. Save them the work. Or you could suck it up, and you could go. Put on a smile, and go make friends. Need I remind you we are suffering through a famine, and there are visiting nobles who may be able to offer us some aid?”

She hesitated, and for a moment, Daud could see the child she had been the day he and Billie had torn her from her mother. Despite her pinned hair, and her all-black uniform—such a comparison to the Kaldwin blue she had sported in Tyvia—that made her the epitome of an intimidating empress, her dark brown eyes were still full of doubt, and she looked ready to collapse in on herself.

Emily Kaldwin was holding on by a thread.

“Fine,” she said. “If I am to go, what do you suggest I do in the meantime?”

“What do you normally do in your spare time?” he asked.

Her lips pursed. “I don’t tend to have time to spare, what with people trying to kill me. Last year it was Galia, year before that it was Delilah. Year before that it was Zhukov—”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “I got the point.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was so much younger than he was, and he couldn’t remember what he had done that would have been classified as “normal” at her age. By the time he was twenty seven, he had already started to make a name for himself as an assassin, having been Marked two years prior. He dug around in this pockets, pulling out a damaged cigar. He held it up between two gloves fingers. “Want a smoke?”

“You know,” Emily said, descending the stairs, “my father wouldn’t approve.”

“I don’t think I can do anything without Corvo thinking I’m a fucking disgrace,” he mumbled to himself, taking a knife to the end of the cigar, and cutting the tip before handing it over. “I trust that the lack of a clipper will not offend you too much.”

She took it between the lips, waiting patiently as he lit it for her. He went to warn her not to inhale but she began to puff from it with the experience of someone who had enjoyed many cigars before. He raised his brows but said nothing, sinking onto a settee.

“My father does not mean what he says, not really.” Emily settled into the chair opposite him, pulling her legs to the side. “He is bitter, and understandably so. I have…larger concerns than an old man haunted by regret. He does too, truth be told, but he cannot see it. He is blinded by his anger. He will move on, in time. Besides…” She looked him dead in the eyes, kohl smudged across her eyelids in a fashion she had picked up from Elizabeth. It didn't suit her, only making her look even more tired. “No one should have to kill an empress.”

 His heart felt like it was in his throat, and with his perpetually-shaking hands, he went to pour himself a drink from a decanter on the table between them. Brandy sloshed over the rim of the crystal glass, Daud unable to keep his hands still long enough to keep from spilling. He slammed the decanter back down on the table with more force than what was necessary, gritting his teeth before trying again.

Emily hummed idly. “Interesting.” She held the cigar between her teeth before holding up her own hands. Although it was almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, her hands had a very distinct tremor. “Tell me this isn’t a chronic condition.”

“If you call regret a condition, I have some bad news for you,” he muttered, downing the entire contents of his glass in one go. It was weird to see the skin of her hands bare of any black stains. The Outsider’s Mark had disappeared from their hands shortly following his death, but Daud had insisted on covering his hands regardless, if out of habit more than anything else. If they’d had any hopes that the Outsider would miraculously return, they had died the day they had woken to bare hands, and an emptiness in their souls.

“I have no regrets.”

Daud eyed her for a long moment before snorting, pouring himself another drink. “We all have regrets.”

“Is yours my mother?”

He winced at the bluntness at her question. Ever since Tyvia, the tact Emily had once possessed seemed to have gone down the drain. She was a force of nature, taking what she wanted, and damned be those who stood in her way. Daud had tried to avoid her as much as possible for that very reason. Well, that, and the fact that Corvo followed her wherever she went. “Among others,” he said. “When you’ve killed as many people as I have, when you’ve ruined as many lives as I have…things blur together for a while, and then you find yourself drowning in your regrets.”

She shrugged almost nonchalantly. “Sometimes spilling blood is the only answer.”

His entire body tensed. “There’s always another way.”

“Another way which results in what, exactly?” Emily derision sent shivers down his spine. “You found another way to deal with Delilah, and you almost destroyed the Empire _again_. If you had known Galia half as well as you said you did, you could have stopped her long before she could have ever—” She coughed, not on the smoke of her cigar, but her own words. “Much better to end things once and for all.”

“You do that, and you might as well change your name to Delilah because you’ll end up being just like her.” He spoke plainly, not bothering with lies or platitudes. She was old enough to handle the cold, hard truth now, and quite frankly, even if she wasn't, he didn't care. “You…you end up like me.”

“Delilah let herself be defeated by a girl ten years her younger, and now she’s stuck in a painting I have hung over my mantle. I don't intend on letting the same thing happen to me” she said. “And you, as you said, you’re a fucking disgrace.”

He snorted into his glass, but her words made him too concerned for him to truly find any amusement in the situation. “You found other ways in Karnaca. Several times, in fact,” he said. “Why not return to that?”

“Because,” Emily said, pushing herself to her feet, “everyone dies in the end. No use in delaying the inevitable. I am…helping them along. Thank you for the cigar. I will be attending my party, if you are still concerned, but if you will excuse me, I shall be in my quarters.”

 He didn’t stop her from leaving. “Emily?” he called out after her. She stopped midstride but did not turn around to look at him. “I won’t…keep you from doing what it is you think you need to do. I’m not your father. Just remember that there isn’t turning back from the path you’ve chosen.”

“That implies I want to turn back,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” he said. “Can you remember how many lives you have taken? Can you remember their names?”

His words had made her hesitate before, but this made her stop. She looked ready to flee, like the sparrow on the pin she had given to Billie. People had a fight or flight reaction when startled, he had learned as much during a speech at the Royal Academy he had sat in on, though the rest of the lecture now escaped him. Daud’s was, nearly every time, to fight. He would jump, and have his sword out in the next moment, regardless of how great the threat was. Emily…Emily looked like she wanted to run and hide.

“Yes,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Jack Ramsey, Breanna Ashworth, Paolo, a man named Claudio, a witch named Francesca, a guard who was trying to kill a protestor…” She frowned, furrowing her brows, running over the names in her head, and lifting a finger with each one as she struggled to remember the rest. 

“And Galia,” finished Daud. “Not to mention those you ordered executed following the riots two weeks ago. Have their names, and their faces already started to blur together? Because if they have…you’ll start drowning soon.”

She swallowed, holding her head high, but her lower lip wobbled. “I don’t have to answer to you,” was all she said before storming up the stairs, her hands curled into fists.

“You don’t have to answer to me, Emily,” he yelled after her, “but you will have to answer to yourself. You can outrun everything but regret.”

“Then it is a good thing,” she hissed, leaning over the railing from the second floor, “I do not have any regrets to outrun. Go wallow in your self-pity, old man, and leave me alone.”

The slam of a door followed not shortly after, and Daud looked back at the decanter of brandy. He went to pour himself a glass so he could return to skulking in the corner of the throne room before abandoning the glass altogether, and grabbed the entire carafe before heading back to the throne room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have too much free time on my hands right now, so here's a random little story I cooked up. I blame Estora for this, in all honesty. Got me too interested in what high chaos Emily would look like other people.
> 
> If you enjoyed, drop a kudos, or leave a comment. I'd love to hear what you guys think. This author needs validation. If you have not read [As Above](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9599093/chapters/21689954), and are just picking this up here, I would highly advise going back and reading it. Might make a little more sense.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Emily Kaldwin was falling apart at the seams, and there was nothing anyone could do about it."_

“I don’t think I ever expected to see the day you would willingly dress up,” said Billie, laughing under her breath as she saw how uncomfortable Daud looked in the stiff uniform Elizabeth had forced him into. She had exchanged her own white coat for a tighter fitting red leather jacket, but it looked rather worn-in, and suited her far better than his suited him.

Daud tugged down his sleeves, a pleasant warmth in his fingers from the brandy. “Could say the same of you,” he said.

“Blame Zenaida,” she said, jerking her head towards the woman on her arm. “She said it would be inappropriate.”

The Tyvian laughed, throwing her head back. Diamond earrings sparkled below her black hair, matching the necklace hanging around her neck. Daud wasn’t entirely certain where she had got the money to purchase the jewellery she adorned, or the draped white dress she wore either. As far as he was aware, neither of them of them had any source of income that would pay for such frivolous things.

“I hardly said that,” said Zenaida, swatting at Billie’s arm. “I said that there was a dress code we had to adhere to.” She turned her gaze towards Daud. “You look…nice.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I’m…worried. About tonight. This seems like a bad idea. People are there are starving, and the nobles are having a party.”

“I think it’s lovely.” Zenaida glanced about the throne room, which still hadn’t quite finished being set up for the night. “Make new allies, treaties, and the like.”

“And completely ignore the rationing the people have set upon them?” Daud raised a brow. “It’s tactless.”

“Since when have you cared about tact, Daud?”

“Since Emily stopped,” he said. His answer received nothing but pursed lips from both Zenaida and Billie, both recognising how far the Empress seemed to have fallen.

Billie cleared her throat. “We need to go talk to Corvo. We’ll see you…later.”

“You know where to find me.” He watched them walk away, Zenaida throwing her head back as she laughed at something Billie said. Despite his foul mood, he couldn’t help but smile. They reminded Daud of him and Elizabeth when they were younger. Well, they had been in exile, so perhaps they hadn’t quite been the same, but it was…nice, in a way, to see her smile for a change. He had seen how poorly Billie had coped after Deirdre, staring off into the distance with glassy eyes, and snapping at anyone who asked too many questions.

She’d looked the same as Emily did now.

Emily had never been particularly vocal about her feelings. At least, not to him. He couldn’t recall a time where he had seen any emotion but mild discontent on her features. Save for her distress after that day during the rat plague… He couldn’t blame her for that one, but ever since then, ever since the death of her mother, she had been a rather recluse person according to what the Dunwall Tower staff said.

But after the Outsider…

She almost seemed to walk the halls of Dunwall Tower in a stupor, dismissing nobles left and right so she could be alone. She hardly spoke, hardly ate, and any time someone asked her if she was all right, she would turn up her nose, and walk off without another word. Daud was…concerned, to say the least. Emily Kaldwin was falling apart at the seams, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

“ _There_ you are,” Elizabeth said, running up to him. She pushed her clipped hair behind her ears, adjusting the front of her uniform as a troupe of guards passed, each nodding in respect to their superior.

“Did you need me?” Daud asked.

“I—” She frowned. “Have you been drinking?”

“You weren’t around to stop me.”

“Do I have to be?” she said. She had been trying her best to stop drinking after they had returned from Tyvia, and had—rather fairly—asked him to keep the stuff away from her. “Daud, you know that this is important. I need you at your best. The people are…restless.”

“The people are hungry, El, and the nobles are throwing a feast while they starve to death,” he growled. “Have you forgotten already what it’s like to go to bed not just hungry, but starving? I didn’t realise that the instant we got back to Dunwall you’d get swept up in the life of nobility again.” He wasn’t entirely certain where the anger had come from. Perhaps he had been bottling it up for months now, letting it fester within him until it had started to eat at him from the inside out.

Elizabeth remained as collected as ever, though she did cross her arms across her chest, defensive. “I do not have the time to have this argument now, Daud. I have things I need to do which is why I came here to speak with you. _Not_ to be berated for my lack of apparent care. I have heard you mention this on multiple occasions, but what is done is done. We are here, this is happening, and we will make the most of it. _However_ , I recognise that because of the riots—which I cannot say I do not sympathise with—there are concerns regarding security, and I am here to ask you that you aid the men in going through the Empress’ gifts to ensure that there are no threats to her life. Are you capable of doing that in your state, or should I send for someone more capable?”

He took one look at her narrowed eyes, and the sneer upon her lips, and snorted.

“ _What?_ ” she said.

“You look like the Regent,” he mumbled. “Haughty. Proud. Uncaring. Title you didn’t earn. Hands covered in blood. All you need now is a crown.”

He swore he saw her flinch, but her mask of composure snapped back into place seconds later. “Go check the gifts.” She shot him a look, grabbing a nearby soldier as he passed, and starting to discuss his rotation for tonight as though nothing had happened.

Outsider’s cock, he already had a headache.

He didn’t want to push Elizabeth too much, however, and went to go join the guards going through the noble’s gifts down in the main hall. It almost disgusted him how much wealth these visitors had to spare. Pearls, and diamonds, and gold, and silver—they threw them all together in a box like it was nothing. If they had used this wealth to help the people of the Isles, they wouldn’t be in a famine. The ignorance of nobility never ceased to surprise him. They could be the solution to all of their problems, if they actually cared.

But then…

Caring always seemed to be the problem.

Perhaps he had just become pessimistic in his old age, but he had discovered that the apathy of people was what often led to their own suffering. By the time someone came to take his place, only so Daud could provide a watchful eye over the crowd, he was struggling to keep walking in a straight line.

In hindsight, perhaps drinking wasn’t the best idea, but the brandy had numbed the pain in his chest that manifested every time he caught sight of Corvo which, given the fact that they were residing in the same building, was quite often. Emily had not moved on from Daud’s transgressions, but as she had said, she had larger concerns than an old man haunted by regret. It had been seventeen years since he had killed her mother, and the memory of her had startled to slip through the Empress’ fingers. She had been a child, and had spent over half her life without a mother. Corvo… Corvo had been old enough to remember Jessamine, and Daud did not think that the Lord Protector would ever look past what he had done.

He couldn’t entirely blame Corvo, truth be told. Not only had Daud killed Jessamine, but he had placed a corrupt maniac on the throne to replace her, thereby throwing Dunwall into chaos. Corvo forgiving Daud would not be a simple task. He hadn’t done what Billie had and simply betrayed him. No, he had almost brought an empire to its knees.

At least, looking back on it, Daud recognised how much he had completely, and utterly fucked up by taking that job.

“You couldn’t have worn a mask?” Corvo growled as he passed Daud. “Half the nobles are already talking about you. Perhaps Captain Bushford shouldn’t have put you on gift duty.”

“I didn’t realise my face put them off that much,” Daud said, rubbing at the back of his hand absentmindedly. He didn’t even blink at Elizabeth’s title. “Besides, the mask was your thing, Corvo.”

The Lord Protector scowled. “It’s not that it’s putting them off. It’s that, up until recently, it was plastered on wanted posters across the Isles.”

“If you let me outside of Dunwall Tower once in a while, maybe we wouldn’t be having this problem, now would we?” Daud shot him a glare. “Whose brilliant idea was it to let you, the Royal Protector and father of the Empress, also be Royal Spymaster? I can’t take a piss now without you knowing about it.”

“Good,” said Corvo. “That’s the way it should be. You’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Oh, cut it off with the threats, Corvo,” Daud said, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve been threatening to kill me for almost a year now, and look! I’m still alive. If you want my head, I am more than happy to accompany you to the chopping block. Death would be better than this bullshit party.”

Corvo’s brown eyes narrowed. Daud wasn’t quite certain how no one had figured out that Corvo was Emily’s father until the Empress had announced it publicly at age eighteen. He had heard about it even in his remote vineyard in Cullero. Looking at Corvo up close though, he could see Emily in his features. They had the same wild hair—though hers was black, like her mother’s—as well as jawlines that could cut stone, with strong brows to match their eyes as dark as amber. Emily looked more like Corvo than she did Jessamine, Daud thought.

“Are you drunk?” Corvo asked. He almost looked…confused. “You’re not normally this…vocal.”

“No, but hopefully I will be by the end of the night,” he mumbled. “I am vocal, by the way. You’re too busy ignoring me to notice.”

“Hmph.” The Royal Protector cast his gaze back at the throne where Emily was speaking with Elizabeth. “We’re letting everyone in soon. Security—”

“Is of the utmost importance,” Daud finished at the same time as Corvo, much to the latter’s irritation. “Happens when you throw a feast during a famine.”

“ _I_ am not the complaints office,” Corvo said, shoving a sword into Daud’s hands. “Don’t make regret giving that to you.”

He grunted in response, strapping the belt around his waist. He had always disliked the standard issue Watch weapons, but hopefully he would not have to be using them tonight. They were nothing more than a display of his position in the court—which was nothing but a servant with access to a sword at this point. He caught Elizabeth’s eye as he weighed the sword in his hand, smirking as she sighed.

A while back, looking for something to do more than anything else, he had asked Elizabeth if he could join the Watch. His skills could be put to use there, he’d argued, even if he wasn’t fond of taking orders. She had dismissed his request, muttering something about it being inappropriate as his senior officer. With Daud’s abilities being rather restrained to fighting, he had been left without anything to do, and now spent his days aimlessly walking the halls of Dunwall Tower.

He hadn’t expected Corvo—of all people—to change that routine.

“Daud?” Corvo said, just about to turn away.

He didn’t respond vocally, merely raising a scarred brow.

“Don’t be giving my daughter cigars,” he said, eliciting a snort from the Knife of Dunwall.

“She’s twenty seven, and the empress,” he said. “If she wanted a cigar, I don’t think me not giving her one would stop her.”

Corvo frowned at that, but seemed to decide that arguing with Daud would not be worth it, and went back over to Emily’s side to escort her out of the throne room before the guests came in. She was making a speech, he had heard Elizabeth say, petitioning the nobles of Morley and Tyvia for their aid during this famine. He wasn’t certain before if he was going to stick ‘round long enough to hear it, but if Corvo expected him to play the dutiful soldier…

Dammit, he had to stay now, didn’t he?

Sure enough, within the half hour, guests started streaming in one by one. Many noblewomen wore gowns which made Zenaida’s draped white dress look like rags in comparison, and the men that accompanied them wore their formal uniforms, displaying their military badges on their chest. Once they had all filed in, one by one, did Emily re-emerge. She had dressed for the occasion, abandoning her previous tight-fitting uniform for a coat as black as night, its coattails brushing her shins as she moved to stand before her throne. She looked…

Intimidating.

Knowing her, Daud suspected that this was nothing short of intentional.

“I thank you, esteemed guests, for coming to celebrate during trying times,” she began, not a trace of self-doubt in her voice. However much Daud had rattled her hours earlier, she seemed to have shaken it all off, and now her power crept into her words, reminding the nobles that this new Emily—this empress who had been forged in ice and fire—would spill a river of blood if anyone dared to cross her. “I understand,” she continued, “that Gristol has suffered through many tragedies in the years I have been empress, but we will do what we always do, and we will endure with our heads held high—”

“Maybe Gristol’s suffering because it’s got a cold-hearted bitch on the throne!” a Tyvian noble yelled, his face turning red with his anger. “You invite us here, asking for our help again. What are you going to do, your Majesty, if we do not give it? You _barely_ managed to retake your throne two years ago from Delilah. Perhaps she deserved it more than you do. Where is she now? What have you done to her?”

Emily stopped. Daud saw her hands curl into fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. “I assure you,” she spat out through gritted teeth, “Gristol will not fall.”

“Gristol may not, but what about the rest of us?” a noblewoman from Morley asked tentatively, wringing her hands. “Your Majesty, I do not mean to impose, but you have asked much of us, and we do not have anything left to give.”

“A conversation,” Emily said, sinking into her throne, “for later. Thank you for addressing your concerns with us, Lady Branagan and Lord Polzin.” She waved a hand to dismiss the crowd, signalling the start of the dancing, and Daud saw the half-moon indents welling with blood in her palms.

Emily caught him looking her way, and scowled before engaging in a conversation with Lady Polzin who was offering her apologies for her husband’s behaviour. The Empress seemed to be taking Lady Polzin’s words with a grain of salt, unable to contain her wry, bitter smile upon her painted lips. No matter how much Lady Polzin apologised, it was still Emily who held the power.

It was Emily, who had the capacity to ask for Lord Polzin’s head.

Had he been asked a year ago, he would have said that Emily would never be capable of condemning a noble to death for speaking his mind. A year ago, he’d have said that Emily believed that insubordination was nothing more than independence, and bravery. Now… Now he wasn’t quite so certain.

“Empress?” Daud said, stepping up to Emily’s side, if only to divert her attention so the Polzins could disappear back into the crowd.

Sure enough, the Empress’ eyes snapped to him, narrowing below high brows. Lady and Lord Polzin slipped back into the organized chaos of the room. “Yes, Daud?” she said. “Is there something you would ask of me, or have you come to berate me once more?”

“As if I could ever truly ‘berate’ you, Empress,” he said, forcing a smile to his mouth. Corvo was watching him from several feet behind his daughter, hands clasped behind his back. He needed something to ask Emily about. “Billie.” Damn him to the Void, he didn’t know where he was going with this. Her name had been the first thing to pop into his head.

Her brows arched. “What of her?” she asked. “I know her, yes. Is that all?”

“I was hoping you could…” Daud scrambled for something Emily could assist with, “find her a position. Navy, perhaps?”

“This, Daud, is not the best use of my time,” she sighed, but made no effort to dismiss him. “I do have recruitment officers for a reason. Why are you concerned about Billie’s lack of employment, in any case?”

He grunted, and shrugged.

She pursed her lips as his essentially non-existent explanation. “I will speak with Billie myself, and ask her if she would want a position first.”

He nodded, taking a step backwards to return to his corner. The Polzins had fled, and he _had_ been meaning to ask Emily to try and recruit Billie into the navy. Her skills could be of more use there than they could on any smuggling ship, he thought, though he doubted she would give up the Dreadful Wale without complaint.

“Daud?” Emily said, just as he turned away, her voice clear even above the crowd’s chatter. “Stay.”

“Emily, I don’t think—” began Corvo, but Emily silenced him with nothing more than a wave of her hand. He glowered as Daud returned to the dais on which Emily’s throne rested.

“He is doing nothing but putting everyone off,” she said, glancing up at her father, “skulking in the corner. Let us give him something to do, even if it as trivial and as insignificant as protecting me from a non-existent threat.”

“With all due respect, Empress,” Daud still hated using her title, “I doubt that given my…situation it would be advisable.”

“I suppose it is good to see you and Corvo agreeing on something, for once,” she mused, “but you are staying. Besides, the gifts are set to start soon, and I would rather enjoy some company that does not consist of the sole member of my family.”

Even if Daud had wanted to argue with her, the fierce determination in Emily’s eyes made him bite his tongue. Even if she was half his age, he didn’t want to face her wrath. Especially not with the way Emily seemed to be going. He realised that she had not taken his earlier words seriously, but he had meant what he had said. She was starting down a path she would not be able to come back from. As he looked at her however, seeing the darkness in her eyes, and the corruption that had taken root in her soul, he suspected that turning back was not an option she intended to consider.

No, Emily Kaldwin would bring the world to its knees, and Daud would not be able to stop her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Seventeen years ago, he would have dreaded the idea of following Emily to his end, but now...Now it seemed like the only way he could make up for all he had done. Dying by her side would be the only thing that would redeem him for all the errors he had made."_
> 
> This chapter contains brief mentions of rape, as well as human trafficking.

Daud hated every minute of this.

The propriety, the false smiles, the nobles’ backhanded compliments—all of it. He would have preferred a long, silent night spent locked in his quarters by himself than endure another moment of this complete bullshit waste of time. His headache had become worse, his temples all but throbbing. The line for the nobles to present the Empress with their gifts—the gifts that Daud had gone through several hours earlier—seemed endless.

“Do try to not look so bored,” Corvo hissed.

 “Possible were I not bored,” he said, “given that it is hard to look something you’re not.”

He frowned, but did not say anything further, clasping his hands behind his back. Daud couldn’t help but crack a smirk, almost proud of the fact that he had managed to shut Corvo up for once. Not that Corvo was known for being a man of many words, but when he did speak, it tended to be some sort of insult directed at Daud, and quite frankly, he was sick of it. He wanted…

He wanted to go home.

Wherever the hell that was.

It wasn’t Dunwall—it hadn’t been for years. Even when he had left, even when Corvo had held a sword to his throat, and had told him to never return, he hadn’t considered Dunwall his home. It was a place he had lived for years, that was all.

He hadn’t been able to find a home in Serkonos either. Not in the home he had shared with his mother, and not in Cullero where he had spent the past sixteen years. Everywhere he went, he felt like nothing more than a lost wanderer, but try as he might, he couldn’t find a place to settle down. Every time he thought he had settled down, fate seemed to sweep up off his feet once again, and forced him to leave behind everything he had ever known.

Daud was tired.

Of the blood, the fighting, the corruption—of everything on which Dunwall was built. Perhaps he should have stayed up in the far reaches of Tyvia, away from any recognizable civilization.

He drummed his fingers on the hilt of the blade, watching as a noblewoman from Redmoor approached the throne, waving forward two servants holding gifts.

“Lady Lenora Preston,” Emily said, forcing a smile. “I see that your husband is not with you.”

“Alas there was…an incident back home, and he was unable to attend. He sends his regards.” Lady Preston dropped into a bow so low, had her circlet not been pinned to her auburn hair, it would have fallen off. She straightened, waving forward her servants. One kneeled, presenting a box which Emily unwrapped to unveil a bust of her likeness plated in gold.

Daud had never particularly understood the idea behind a gift that served no purpose, but then again, he’d never had a reason for simply _having_ something. Everything he had ever purchased needed to serve a purpose because at the drop of a hat, he could be halfway across the Isles, and anything unnecessary would have to be left behind. Emily, he supposed, did not have this problem. Her life was here, in Dunwall, and here she would rule, until she died, or until her Empire crumbled into the sea.

Still, as frivolous as Lady Preston’s first gift had been, Daud wished the second had been half as similar. It would have been easier. It would have been better for all of them. But Daud rarely seemed to catch a break nowadays, and he wasn’t certain why he’d ever expected the Empress’ celebrations to not go over poorly. He had been saying that this was a bad idea for days after all.

Now, he was correct, but his rather small victory was nothing short of pyrrhic.

Lady Preston’s second gift was precisely what he had warned everyone about. Even though Delilah had all but brought Dunwall to its knees, there were few radicals that still supported the psychotic witch. They called themselves the Circle of the Crowned Roses, and threatened to destroy Emily for all she had done to Delilah. They started riots, burned down buildings, attacked politicians, and everywhere they went, they left behind a rose wrought of gold dipped in blood to signify their involvement. For months, they had been dismissed as nothing more than troublesome, but it was only when one of the Roses had tried to kill Thalia Timsh did the Watch start taking action. They had waited too long to address the problem, however, and now the Roses were out of control. They grew bolder by the day, their attacks becoming more and more frequent, but no matter how many men the Watch sent out, they were still unable to find the leader of the operation.

Somehow, he suspected that the Watch would be going on a raid after tonight.

Corvo all but threw Lady Preston to the ground as he realised what the second box contained, his blade unfolded and pressed against her throat. She choked on her tears as she pleaded with the Lord Protector to spare her life, trying to explain that it was not her, that she had been handed the wrong box to gift to the Empress. Her words were almost lost in commotion that broke out as Elizabeth ordered men to press the rest of the ground back, the soldiers of the Watch waving their swords as they attempted to control the crowd which did little but frighten the bystanders.

Emily, to Daud’s surprise, was completely silent.

She stared down at the box in her lap, confusion painting her features as she picked up Lady Preston’s gift, turning the golden rose between two fingers with mild interest as the blood dripped down her arm, and painted her sleeve. The crimson sunk into the black fabric, leaving smears on her pale skin.

“I think,” she said, her voice quiet, but still somehow managing to ring clear in the chaos, “that is enough festivities for the night. Captain Bushford, see that the guests are escorted out.” She gripped the metal rose in her fist as she stormed off to her quarters, Corvo still interrogating Lady Preston.

It was confirmed then, Daud supposed, that the Roses wanted Emily’s head. He suspected that the coming days would not be easy. The world was falling apart, and now they had to face the possibility that they would face the end without Emily to guide him. Seventeen years ago, he would have dreaded the idea of following Emily to his end, but now… Now it seemed like the only way he could make up for all he had done. Dying by her side would be the only thing that would redeem him for all the errors he had made.

Something compelled him to go after the Empress. He wasn’t certain what he could offer her by means of consolation—he had never been on this side of threat to one’s life, after all. Normally, it was Daud who was making the threats. He didn’t bother knocking.

“It should have been devoted,” Emily muttered as he stepped into the room, pacing from the window to the foot of her bed.

He raised a brow. “What should have been?”

She gestured to the box the rose had come in which she’d set on the bed. Daud caught sight of a letter pinned to the lid of the box, keeping it from being stained by the blood. He had heard many threats in his days, mostly from those at the end of his blade, but the words still sent a shiver down his spine.

_Roses are red, violets are blue, tell me, my dear Empress, should we throw another coup? The people are starving, the nobles are gloating; did you know that not all your citizens are so devoting? Your people are dying, one after another, and the only way this will end is with you dead like your mother._

“It should have been ‘did you know that not all your citizens are so devoted,’ not ‘devoting,’” she said. “Could they not have kept the rhyme without sacrificing the integrity of the message? Doting, I think would have worked.”

“Some would say, your Majesty, that you need to get your priorities in order if that is what you are concerned about.” Daud placed the lid back on the box, hiding the blood-soaked paper the rose had come wrapped in.

“And what would you say, Daud?” Emily did not stop pacing, the knuckle of her forefinger pressed to her lips.

“I would say that if they were serious, they would have sent a stronger message,” he said, eliciting a bitter, hollow laugh from the Empres.

“Are you criticising their methods, Daud?” she said. He shrugged, which only caused her to smile. “I believe that you may also need to get your priorities back in order.”

“My priorities were never in—” He didn’t have the opportunity to finish his statement as Corvo all but kicked the door to Emily’s chambers open, grabbing Daud by the collar only to slam him against the wall. The impact rattled Daud’s very bones, and he suspected he would have bruises marking his skin come the morn.

“ _One job_ ,” hissed Corvo. “You had _one_ job, and that was to check presents. Do you have to destroy everything you touch?”

Emily had seen their violent arguments far too many times in the past eleven months. She had become desensitized to them to such a degree that Daud and Corvo’s fights barely earned a quizzical look in their direction. Now, she settled into her chair, head braced in her hands, and muttered curses under her breath.

“I did check the gifts,” Daud growled, “along with ten other men. Need I remind you, I was dismissed by a soldier, due to the fact that you—of all fucking people—wanted me on the floor for security duty?”

Corvo took a step back, and for a split second, Daud thought the Royal Protector would let this rest. He was quickly proven to be wrong, however, as Corvo soon closed the distance between them, this time with a fist that impacted with the side of Daud’s face. The assassin was thrown to the ground by the force, his blood pumping in his ears. Emily rang for a servant to bring her a cup of tea.

“This is not my fault,” Daud said from the ground, rubbing at his jaw as he pushed himself to his feet. “I did not do this, and if someone really wanted Emily dead tonight, they would have sent more than a flower.”

“It’s _always_ your fault.” Corvo made another lunge for him, which Daud sidestepped to avoid. This confrontation was nothing more than a culmination of all the animosity that had been brewing between them for nearly two decades now. It had taken all of Corvo’s self-control to keep from killing Daud the first time, not to mention Elizabeth’s warning of the example Corvo would have set for Emily had he killed Daud. Not that the latter seemed to matter anymore. Regardless of the example Corvo had set, Emily seemed determined to ignore entirely, and cut a path through those that opposed her. Tonight, however… Tonight was the straw that had broken the blood ox’s back.

“Is it your intention, Daud,” the Lord Protector continued, “to see everyone I love dead?”

“As I told you, if the Roses wanted Emily dead, she would be dead by now!” Daud ducked to avoid a punch, grabbing Corvo’s wrist, and turning to catch him in a chokehold. “Listen to me, Corvo. We know that the Roses are here, somewhere. We should try to find them before they disappear again. If it gets you to stop being so fucking unreasonable, I might even help—”

“I don’t want help,” Corvo said through gritted teeth. “Not from you.”

Daud threw Corvo away from him, nostrils flailing as he exhaled, hands curling into fists. “This is more important than your pride, Corvo.”

“I don’t care.” The Royal Protector’s glare was all but venomous. For the umpteenth time, Daud considered the possibility that it might have been better to sit tonight out. “After all you’ve done, you have some nerve showing back up.”

“What do you want from me?” Daud was too exhausted to yell now. His words came out little louder than a whisper. This had gone on for far too long, and he was far too old to be dealing with this any longer. “What must I do to make up for what I did? I have pledged my life to saving your daughter. I have apologised on numerous occasions—”

“Your apologies,” Corvo said slowly, standing mere inches away from the assassin, and looking down on him, “won’t bring Jessamine back.”

He felt as though he had just been stabbed in the chest. “You’re right,” he said, “but at least I’m apologising. Last time I checked, no one apologised for all the fucked up things I went through.”

“Maybe you had it coming.”

He thought back to his mother, and how she had been saddled with child born from the seed of a man who had forced himself upon her. He thought back to the Overseers who had come to their house, hearing the whispers of his mother being a witch, and had taken his mother away. He thought back to the days that had followed, when he had broken into the Abbey to find his mother, her wounds weeping with pus, and stricken with fever. He thought back to her dying in his arms, just as the Overseers came back in. He thought back to the weeks he spent in prison before a slaver had bribed the corrupt guards to let him take Daud away, and the young Serkonan was sold to the highest bidder. He thought back to the heat of the blood that coated his hands as he tore open the throat of his owner, and the cold night air into which he had disappeared, never to be seen again.

And Corvo thought he’d had it coming.

“You don’t know me, bodyguard,” he said quietly, “and I don’t think you’ll ever will.”

Corvo met his eyes, sensing the turmoil that raged with Daud. He opened his mouth as though to ask, as though to press him to explain, but before he could, there was a loud bang as Emily fell from her chair, empty cup of tea in hand, frothing at the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be touched more upon later, but for anyone who's interested:
> 
> The Circle of the Crowned Roses are a radical group opposing Emily Kaldwin's claim to the throne, praising Delilah as a martyr who dared to challenge Emily's claim. Some of the members consist of Delilah's former witches who fled after Delilah's fall, while others have been recruited in after the start of the famine in the Month of Song, 1853. During the Fugue Feast, the Roses led a march on Holger Square, and it was only the Abbey that managed to subdue them. However, as this was during the Fugue Feast, no charges were ever pressed, and the Roses faded into obscurity until the first of the Month of Harvest, 1854 when Emily Kaldwin called for a strict rationing program to be put into place. Attacks from the Roses have happened about every three days since then, largely consisting of small-scale arson in the poorer districts. At each of the scenes, a rose wrought of metal painted gold, and typically dipped in pig's blood has been left to signify the Roses' involvement. Multiple search parties have been sent out to try and find the leader of the Roses, or at least some sort of headquarters, but none have been found.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"'She was the best thing to ever happen to me, and Emily's the only part of her I have left, but when I look at her now, she is...broken. She's become...'_
> 
> _**Me,** Daud thought bitterly. **She's become me.** "_

Not that Daud would ever confirm the rumours, but he had spent an entire winter at the Academy of Natural Philosophy. It was half on accident, and half entirely on purpose—which was, admittedly, a rather contradictory statement. In truth, he had been searching for answers to all his questions regarding the Black-Eyed Bastard— _the Outsider_ , he corrected himself, the least he could do after he’d sacrificed himself to save Daud was to refer to him by name. Never should speak ill of the dead, he supposed.

Daud had heard of Anton Sokolov’s fascination with the Great Leviathan, and he had hoped to find the answers he had been searching for within the Academy. He was, however, initiated into the Academy entirely by accident, stumbling across it late one night, and passing himself as curious student if only to get some refuge from the biting winds.

Even though he had turned up empty handed after spending an entire season there, Daud had picked up several things simply through exposure. Basic medical had been the most important one. He had used what he had learned on that front time and time again. Being an assassin, as it turned out, resulted in many, many, _many_ injuries.

And now, his experience seemed to be coming in use again.

He didn’t hesitate as he dove towards Emily, shoving all furniture out of the way as she began to convulse. “Call for Doctor Toksvig, then open the windows, she needs air,” Daud ordered Corvo, still trying to determine what manner of poison Emily had ingested. Normally, he was the one who had done the poisoning. Now, he was the one who was trying to ensure that Emily didn’t die. Had the situation not been so dire, he would have laughed at the absurdity.

Emily’s convulsions started to slow, which would have been good under any other circumstances, Daud knew that it also meant he was running out of time. He sniffed the cup, crinkling his nose. “Cyanide,” he said as Corvo threw open the windows, face set in stone only so he could manage his grief. “Low dosage. She’ll make it through if she’s tended to quickly. I need you to find out the name of the servant that brought her the tea.”

“I—”

“Don’t argue, just do it,” he growled, picking up the teacup with his gloved hands, wrapping it up in Emily’s handkerchief, before setting it aside. A part of him hated the fact that this was the most orderly his life had been since what was almost last year. Everything had been falling apart—Emily’s sanity included—but following medical procedure under duress? _That_ he could do. Even if he was most _definitely_ drunk.

Why did everything had to be a fucking shit show?

Doctor Toksvig was a slight woman whose features were almost entirely hidden by her spectacles; the lenses were as large as Daud’s fist, wrapped in copper wire. The first time he had met her, he had worried that if he breathed on her she would shatter. There was an unsurprising strength to her, though. She had a wit as sharp as razor wire, and her quips had—on more than one occasion—reduced both Corvo and Daud to startled sputters.

She did not hesitate as she settled down alongside Emily, pushing her grey-blonde hair back underneath her white skullcap. “Daud,” she said calmly, beginning to prepare an antidote, recognising the poisoning almost as quickly as Daud had, “I must say that I am surprised.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, watching as she tapped the syringe to rid of any caught pockets of air.

“Usually, poisoning isn’t your weapon of choice,” she said wryly. She glanced at the open windows, not seeming to notice Corvo wringing his hands in the corner.  “Though it seems you knew what to do.”

“I assure you, it wasn’t me.”

“Ah, that’s what they all say,” she murmured, injecting the antidote into a vein in Emily’s forearm. “Lord Protector, you can cease your worrying. Had Daud not done what he had—clearing the space, and the like—I suspect we would have wasted much time doing that, and Her Majesty’s health would be in a far more precarious state. As it is, Her Majesty will recover, and I daresay with little side effects. I doubt that she will be needing much rest—though the last time I prescribed rest you ignored my orders, so I do not think it matters either way. Daud, I presume you know the source of the poison?”

The assassin jerked his head towards the bundle of cloth he’d pushed to the side. “In the tea.”

“Lord Protector, I would never tell you how to do your job, but might I suggest that you find the servant who…” She trailed off when Daud coughed. “Ah. It seems Daud is prepared, for once.”

“ _For once?_ ” he said under his breath.

Doctor Toksvig stood. “Could I ask you to lift Her Majesty into her bed? I doubt that she will wake soon, and if she does, I suspect she would not like to wake on the ground. If she experiences any more seizures, do not try to restrain her, simply keep her away from things that might harm her. Additionally, time the seizure, and call for help immediately. The last one, I hope, is redundant. The poison does seem to be of a rather low dosage, but I will not be able to tell until I get this back to my lab. I will bring in a drip for her, to keep her hydrated, and cyanide tends to lower oxygen levels in the blood stream, so check regularly to see that Her Majesty still breathes.” She snapped her medical bag shut. “Good day, gentlemen.” She excused herself with a nod to them both, turning sharply on her heel, and marching out the room with her head held high.

Daud decided to let Corvo deal with Emily. Somehow, he suspected if he came anywhere near her, or even so much as laid a finger on her, he might earn a black eye to match the growing bruise on his jaw. After all he had done, he doubted that the Empress could ever call him a friend. He could spend the next fifteen years in her service, and there would forever be a wall between them that would keep them apart. Not that he had the right to be bitter about that. It was his fault, really, and he knew that.

“I should have listened to you.”

It took him several seconds to realise that Corvo was speaking to him. He looked away from the window, pursing his lips at the sight of the Royal Protector. He was doubled over his daughter’s unconscious body, his hands clasped as though in prayer. Given their shared history with the Outsider, he somehow doubted that Corvo was a religious man.

“I don’t want your apologies,” Daud grumbled, rubbing his temples. The buzz of the alcohol had started to fade away, leaving behind nothing but a pulsing headache. “You’re right; I don’t deserve them.”

“You saved Emily’s life,” said Corvo, “ _again_. I am…in your debt.”

“Don’t…” He closed his eyes as though that would somehow make this all disappear. Outsider’s blood, he just wanted it to all go away. Peace. Relative peace, for a couple years at least. Why could he not have that? Was it punishment for all he had done? “Don’t say that. Not after what I did. I…I pledged my services to Emily, and I intend on upholding that. It’s the… It’s the least I could do after I—” He choked, and had to clear his throat. “After I killed her mother,” he said, the words causing him no small amount of pain. “Do you not think the least I could do was protect her daughter?”

“You did,” Corvo said, quietly. “Time, and time again. You didn’t have to in Tyvia. I…I heard. About what happened, even if Emily never told me.” He looked to his daughter’s unconscious form. “About what you were willing to do, just so she could…be happy.”

“With a match you hardly would have approved of.”

“That does not matter,” the bodyguard said. “Elizabeth told me—”

“Blasted woman! She promised not to.”

Corvo couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “I think they…I think they would have been good for each other. Rounded out each other’s sharp edges. It was forbidden, yes, but so was Jess, and by the Void, I… She was the best thing to ever happen to me, and Emily’s the only part of her I have left, but when I look at her now, she is…broken. She’s become…”

_Me_ , Daud thought bitterly. _She’s become me._

“All these years, and it is _his_ death that finally broke her,” Corvo continued, glossing over what he wanted to say, “and it is all because I didn’t pay attention to what was happening right under my nose. If I had… If I had never let Zhukov get to Galia—”

“ _Stop_. What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s. You couldn’t have known.”

“Yet you were so willing to die, just so he could live.”

“Well, that and the world ending not being a problem.”

He snorted almost despite himself. “That wasn’t the only time though, was it? Two months ago, you stopped a rebellion before it happened.”

“Not that it helped,” Daud muttered. “The Roses should have been my first concern.”

“And they were,” he said. “You told me on countless occasions—told Billie, told Elizabeth, told Zenaida, told _Emily_ —that this was a bad idea. We did not believe you—did not let ourselves believe you, and here we stand.”

“So we do,” he said. “The question is now: what do we do about it?”

He pushed himself away from his daughter’s side, and for the first time, Daud could tell that Corvo was just as tired as he was. The years had taken their toll, though on the Royal Protector, it was hidden, less observable. Daud’s hair had receded considerably in the past few months, turning grey, and falling out from the stress, and the lines that crossed his faces were a testament to his age. Corvo’s exhaustion, on the other hand, seemed to be more internal. He took twice as long to walk across a distance, occasionally having to stop to catch his breath, and Daud had caught him—on more than one occasion—leaning against a wall for support. They were too old for this, he realised, but the world was ending, and it would not stop for two aging men.

“We have to stop the Roses. And the end of the world.” Corvo’s countenance was as grim as ever, but his gaze lacked an animosity Daud had come to find familiar. Perhaps the end of the world brought to light how petty certain feuds were in comparison. There would forever be some part of Corvo that would detest what Daud had done, and there would forever be some part of Daud that would be haunted by his regrets, but times like these required cooperation in the face of danger. And this, he realised, was one of these times.

“No small task,” Daud mumbled.

His face broke out into a grin, but it was not full of any form of amusement. It was bitter, as though Corvo was mocking the situation they had found themselves in. Two unlikely allies, forced to stand together as the world ended. “What do you say? You up for one last job?”

Daud cast one long look at Emily. While she tossed and turned in her sleep, this was the most she had been at peace in eleven months. She bore the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she bore it alone. Now, her kingdom was falling into ruin, and the world was coming to an end. If he could stop it, he thought to himself, perhaps he could at last redeem himself for all the mistakes he had made. Internally, he laughed. Of course the one thing that would redeem him would require him to save the entire fucking world.

“Told you once, Attano,” said Daud, meeting the Royal Protector’s eyes, “my life is in your hands, and if you want me to join you at the end of all things… Well, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“Could be dangerous.”

“It better damn well be.”

“Won’t be easy either.”

“With all the shit we’ve gone through, can you tell me of one time it was ever easy? Because so far, everything’s been a right pain in the ass.”

Corvo laughed. “You’ve got me there. Well, Daud, looks like we’ve a rebellion to stop, and a world to save.”

“Just another ordinary day, then,” he said under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, it's getting hard to keep track of all the game-specific cursing. Between Skyrim, and Dishonored, and Dragon Age--bloody hell. Didn't think this would be a problem I'd ever have in my life, but here we are. Also, not so subtle reference to Death of the Outsider there. Which, on that note, if Arkane kills Whale Satan, I'd just like to say that I did it before them, and I am definitely not letting them do that.
> 
> Anyway, Corvo and Daud haven't quite exactly made up, but hey, when the world's ending, you gotta do what you gotta do. At least Corvo's realised his daughter's falling apart, and is now going to try to do something to stop her. Not that that's going to work.
> 
> Also, if anyone's been paying attention to my tirades about my new obssession with DA, let me assure you the instant I purchase Inquisition for my new gaming laptop, you can be expecting a Cullen fic. It's already in the works because I'm a lunatic. Actually, on the note of lunacy, and me writing stories for games I've obssessively read up lore on, and watched hours upon hours worth of gameplay on, I own Dishonored 2 but never played it so um...oops? Not like I casually wrote 104446 words about it so far. ~~Fuck me, that's a lot. I didn't realise how much I'd written until I just calculated. Jesus Christ, no wonder I'm single.~~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"She was empty, apathetic to everything that happened around her. Had the world not already been ending, he would have said that they were aboard a sinking ship, and Emily was the captain at the helm. Instead, they had no one trying to steer the ship to shore, for the Captain was sitting idly by as her people drowned in the waters."_ "

Despite Doctor Toskvig’s recommendations, Emily did not take several days of rest to recuperate from the poisoning. If anything, she seemed twice as angry as before. The attempt on her life had done little but fuel the fires of her wrath, and she had the Watch all but tear Dunwall Tower apart, looking for the—in her words—“the wretched servants” who had poisoned her.

The Watch’s investigations were nothing short of thorough. Daud suspected, not even at the height of his power, could he have hidden from the dozens of men that interrogated all visitors of Dunwall Tower day and night. However, due to his past, Daud was the primary suspect. It wasn’t until Elizabeth, Corvo, and _Emily_ stepped in, and vouched for Daud, did the Watch leave him be, though that did not stop the suspicious glances. Which, to be fair, after eleven months in the royal court, he was more than used to.

It took the Watch three days working around the clock to find the culprits. They continued searching through the night, operating on patrols, and making their rounds. Elizabeth’s anger was the only thing that let her stay up until the sun had risen, determined to make the culprits pay for ever daring to lay a finger on the young Empress. By the time everything had been said and done, Daud was almost impressed by the Watch’s efficiency. He harboured no love for the Watch, whose history was plagued and riddled with corruption, but Elizabeth’s meticulous planning abilities, and Corvo’s watchful gaze had turned them into a force to be reckoned with.

After Delilah’s coup, the staff had to almost entirely be created from scratch, most of the previous employees having been slain by Delilah or one of her crazed witches. This had left many holes in security, and after almost two years, no one still quite trusted each other. Which was why, Daud suspected, discovering that the servants who had poisoned Emily had been amongst the handful that had survived Delilah’s reign of terror came as such a shock. In hindsight, it made sense. They would have been the only ones who had come close enough to Delilah to support her cause. Daud could all but see Emily’s face fall as a soldier dragged the traitors up to her throne, one of her former nannies—a woman by the name of Nora Miller—in one hand, and a cook in the other.

“Explain yourselves.” Emily’s tone was curt, clipped, and authoritative to such an extent that Daud found himself wincing. He made eye contact with Corvo who stood on the opposite side of the Empress, and found that he too, seemed concerned by his daughter. But what could they do to stop her? She was the most powerful person in all the Isles, and it took an entire cabinet to stop her from doing what she wanted to do. Her conviction was the oil that fed her fire, and she would burn through anything that stood in her past. She was quickly turning into a wildfire that would see the entire world razed to the ground.

She was quickly becoming everything she had once hated.

He could see Delilah in her. The way she squared her shoulders, her laugh so bitter it sent shivers down his spine, the derision that was the undertone to everything she spoke—all of it, he had seen in her aunt. The worst thing was, he knew she could see it too. And even worse, she didn’t seem to care. Power was power, in her eyes. It did not matter how she wielded it, only that it was wielded. Mercy was a lie. This world would leave the suffering to suffer, the starving to starve, and the powerful would remain in power, but they all shared a common friend in Death himself. If she took their lives, if she brought Death to the doors of her citizens, she was granting them an end they would have had to have waited for. It was better that she end their suffering now, before they had nothing left to live for.

Daud couldn’t even begin to describe how much he disagreed with her. He tried to tell her it was better to be kind, better to be gentle, but she would not have a word of it. She turned her cheek, and lifted her chin high as she ruled from her throne with an iron fist. Emily the Vengeful, the people began to call her. Her reign was one of corruption, and terror, and no matter how hard they tried, how hard they fought against her, they were still subject to her whims and fancies.

She was empty, apathetic to everything that happened around her. Had the world not already been ending, he would have said that they were aboard a sinking ship, and Emily was the captain at the helm. Instead, they had no one trying to steer the ship to shore, for the Captain was sitting idly by as her people drowned in the waters.

“Emily—” began Nora Miller, forced to her knees by an officer of the Watch as she pleaded for her life at the Empress’ feet.

“Do not use my name,” Emily said sharply. “I did not expect it necessary to say that such privileges have been taken from you, Mrs Miller, but it seems that I am wrong. I once trusted you, yet you turn your back on me, and now ask for clemency. You show remorse, which signifies nothing but the fact that you _knew_ this would end with me calling for your head. Why should I give clemency to a fool and a liar? Why should I give clemency to a traitor?”

“Your Majesty,” interjected the cook, bowing his head. “Our actions were inexcusable—”

“So they were.” Her eyes narrowed, fingertips curling over the lip of her armrests. She gripped the metal so tight her knuckles turned white.

“—and we beg your mercy, your Majesty—”

“Mercy?” Emily hissed. “You expect _mercy_ , after all this? You supported my aunt because she was a strong, powerful leader, no? She demanded respect, and did not sit around like I apparently do. I gave you my trust, and this is how you repay me. If you wished to see a demonstration of my power, then I shall happily oblige. You wanted me to dance in the flames? You wanted me to rule as my aunt did? You wanted me to prove my power? This, I will grant you. Mercy, no, but a demonstration as to why I currently sit here, and my aunt does not? Oh, I am more than pleased to do so.” She leaned back into her throne, clasping her hands on her lap. “Lord Protector, show them what we do to traitors of the Crown. Let their blood paint these stones as a reminder to those who would dare to cross me.”

Corvo froze, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I—” He frowned, torn between following the orders of his ruler, and refusing to have any part in his daughter’s corruption. “Your Majesty, I do not think that this is wise.”

“I did not ask for your counsel, Lord Protector, merely your services which you are paid to provide,” she said. “If I wished for your opinion, I would ask for it. Now behead them.”

“Emily,” he said in a lower voice, “I cannot do what you ask of me. I won’t let you do this.”

“Very well,” she said tightly, pushing herself to her feet. “It seems if you want something done, you must do it yourself.”

Before Daud, before Corvo, before _anyone_ could stop her, she grabbed the sword from the Lord Protector’s waist. It sung through the air before colliding with Nora Miller’s neck, the strength Emily put behind her swing separating the woman’s head clean off her shoulders. The servant’s body convulsed as it fell to the floor, the last of the woman’s life fleeing her body. She didn’t hesitate as she repeated the action with the Cook, throwing Corvo’s bloodied blade down alongside the body as she wiped the blood from her face. It did little to improve her appearance, for crimson has painted her entirely. It seeps into her leather boots, vermillion shining against the black. The blood she wiped away became a smear that streaks across one cheek to the other, providing her pale skin with an artificial flush. She had taken to wearing a sort of dress for court-related matters that left her trouser-clad legs visible, but possessed a train that dragged behind her. With every movement she made, the train catches in the pools of blood, sweeping the colour across the floors.

And yet, Emily was smiling.

“Lord Protector Corvo Attano,” she said, sinking back into her throne, “for your failure to recognise the rebel group known as the Circle of the Crowned Roses, and the threat posted to the life of Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin first of her name by the aforementioned rebel group, the Crown hereby demotes you from your position as Royal Spymaster as of this moment. You are relieved from your duties, and you will be asked to remove all personal belongings from the Royal Spymaster’s offices by noon tomorrow.”

“ _What?_ ” Corvo and Daud found themselves both saying. Then, Corvo, “Your Majesty—”

“In Corvo Attano’s place,” she continued without pause, “the Crown hereby promotes Daud to the position of Royal Spymaster, for being the only person who informed Her Majesty of the threat, and thus proved himself to be more knowledgeable than Corvo Attano at preventing attempts on Her Majesty’s life, which is what the Crown believes to be necessary from all Royal Spymasters. This is an official decree, and is not up for discussion. Lord Protector, you will receive the remainder of your pay for this week which will be added to your next pay for your position as Lord Protector. The Crown thanks you for your service, and mourns your departure.”

“You can’t do this,” Corvo said, taking a step towards her. “ _Emily_ —”

“I believe I just did it, Lord Protector,” she snapped. “It is within my right, and power to do so. You failed to pay heed to warnings that could have prevented these unfortunate events, and it is not a mistake that can be forgive. Daud, as of this moment, you officially the new Royal Spymaster. Congratulations. You will be given the offices of the Royal Spymaster along with your title, and an estate of your choosing. You start tomorrow. You will be expected to attend the meeting with the Prime Minister tomorrow at noon, prepared for the discussions on the nature of the current famine.” She nods at him. “Now, if you will excuse me, I shall be retiring. My secretary shall fill you in on anything else you may wish to know.” She left the room with her head held high, wearing an invisible crown, and with her guards in tow.

Corvo’s face fell the instant she leaves the room, but he ground his teeth, brows setting in a line. “You’re right,” he growled, looking at Daud. “She has to be stopped, before she destroys everything.”

“Normally, I would gloat, Attano, but I’d have preferred to be wrong about this,” he mumbled. He shot a glance at the servants’ bodies out of the corner of her eye. “She is out of control, but there is hope yet for her. Go… Go talk her, as her father, not as Lord Protector.”

“I think we are past talking.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but the only thing that will stop her is dead and gone. Show her that she has a reason to fight, a reason to live. I’ve…been in her position. I know how lonely she must be, and damn, I didn’t think I’d want that bastard back from the dead, but here we are.”

He went to speak, but cut himself off by shaking his head. He chased after his daughter, and Daud could see the gears turning behind his eyes as he prepared to show the Empress the errors of her ways. Truth be told, Daud just wanted him gone. He felt claustrophobic, suffocated by all that has happened in but a few short days.

“I confess,” said a voice from behind him, their accent unfamiliar, “this was not how I expected the day to go. I am…unusually entertained.”

Daud whirled around to see a man with skin as dark as night, and dressed in robes that are most certainly not of Gristolian fashion. Their swirling patterns were almost mesmerizing, seeming to shift under the light as he moved. Daud cannot recall ever meeting this man before, and the hairs on the back of his neck raise as the man smiles. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“I suspect not,” answered the man, “but I also suspect you soon will.”

He arched a brow. “Cut the shit, what do you want?”

“Direct,” he hummed. “Good. It will make this easier. I find myself in need of your assistance, Daud. I intended on asking days ago, but what with the chaos, I did not find the time. There is something, back home, that I think you may be interested in. I know you once walked with the Great Leviathan at his side, and I know that both the Empress and the Lord Protector once did too. Your hearts, your souls, have forever been changed by your contact with him, and _that_ is what makes you different from everyone else. _That_ is what gives you the power you need.” He steepled his hands, fingertips pressing together. “Come, walk with me. We have much to discuss.”

“I—”

“Have questions,” completed the man, striding towards the doors. “Yes, I imagine you do, and you will have many more by the time I am finished, but that is to be expected. Few of my people have spoken with yours in many years without shedding blood, but I came here unarmed, and only wanting to talk. You are in no danger from me, not yet.”

Daud’s eyes narrowed. His people? “Who are you?” he rasped.

“Ultimately irrelevant, but I suppose I am what you would call an…ambassador? I believe that is the correct word.”

Dread grew in his stomach, gnawing at him until his head started spin. He swallows, hard. “An ambassador?” he repeated. “Dare I ask from where, and what you are here for?”

He cracks a small smile. “My, you do have a tendency to ask the right questions. I am almost impressed. I understand, Daud, that the Isles have faced their own problems. The famine that has swept across your nation plagued mine for months before it ever reached your shores, but we were prepared for it. We saw it in the stars, saw when it went empty.”

“Saw _what_ when it went empty?”

“The Void, of course,” he answered, so casual that they might as well have been talking about the weather. “Your Empress is tearing herself, and her empire to pieces. We need assistance. I can offer a solution to your problem, if you will offer to help us with our own.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t answered my first question.” Daud stopped before the doors, crossing his arms.

“You are a clever man, Daud,” he said, a sinister smile stretching across his features. “By now, I suspect you know where I am from. A land that is all but untouched by your beloved Empire of the Isles’ grubby little fingers. A land where magic is not shunned as it is here, and a land whose dangers are twice as great as your own. So what say you, Lord Spymaster? Will you aid Pandyssia in these coming days?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me foreverrrrrrr, but I had a good reason. I got a new laptop, and sent one entire week setting it up, and the other just playing Dragon Age: Inquisition. Which. Is. So. Good. I didn't expect to like everyone so much, and since I forgot to use Keep on my first playthrough (as well as forgot to play Jaws of Hakkon, and The Descent), I started up another one because why not, right? _Anyway,_ the squad's heading off to Pandyssia in So Below, and that's a whole new shitshow that they're gonna have to work through. Haven't even started writing it, so I can't say when it'll go up, so don't forget to subscribe to my profile so you can find out.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, read, and kudos'd. You are all so amazing, and I love every one of you so much.


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